What Could Have Been
by Elfpen
Summary: He didn't want to accept it - He couldn't - but no matter how he tried to, he couldn't escape the horrible truth that had presented itself to him in the form of a sickly familiar corpse. Will was dead." Oneshot. Companion piece to 'The Nightmare'.


Title: What Could Have Been

Author: Elfpen

Summary: "He didn't want to accept it - He couldn't - but no matter how he tried to, he couldn't escape the horrible truth that had presented itself to him in the form of a sickly familiar corpse. Will was dead." Oneshot. Companion piece to 'The Nightmare'.

Author's note: This is an idea that popped into my head when I was reading a different fanfiction (I can't remember which one, else wise I would give the title/author here) that was dealing with a 'what if' scenario in which nearly everyone believes that Will is dead after the events in Skandia. I'd been thinking about writing a piece such as the one you're about to read for some time, but reading that fic really got my creative juices flowing. I've had a little bit of a struggle getting Halt's depth of emotion across and keeping him in character at the same time, so please tell me if you think I've failed or succeeded. Any feedback is appreciated.

Without further ado, enjoy.

* * *

He felt his body go numb where he stood. Every muscle, every tendon, every nerve ending was unresponsive and frozen in place. He wasn't sure if he was breathing. Did it matter? He couldn't even feel the steady pulse of his own heart - but that made sense. Of everything, it had suffered the worst beating from this entire ordeal. Something deep inside of him ached with an ache that he could not put into words. A deep, piercing, agonizing ache that went beyond mere physical pain. It was a pain that made him want to drop to his knees and… He didn't know. He didn't know how to physically or orally express just what he was feeling. Something told him to scream, but he didn't. Stale air burned away in his lungs as the silence ticked tortuously by, his eyes unfocused and wide with something like fear. He couldn't feel them, but the tears were already forming, threatening to fall. Unlike so many other times, he didn't care. He didn't care who saw him in his weakness, now. What was there to care about?

His vision swam surreally around, and he could make out the features of Horace, who had tears in his own eyes, looking at him sadly from a few yards away. His eyes then turned to look down at the near hysterical Princess, who was bawling for all she was worth, curled up in a miserable, guilty ball. He knew she blamed herself. He didn't want her to. It wasn't her fault, he knew. Something in the back of his mind told him to reach out a comforting hand, but his mind was too occupied to take action on the fleeting idea. Instead, he turned away from her wailing, which further rendered his heart in two, and away from the apologetic, miserable face of Horace, who reeked of the same loss that he was feeling right now. He looked desperately around for something, anything. What, he didn't know, but he knew he needed _something. _He never found it, however, and he knew that he never would find a replacement for what he'd lost. He would never find something – some_one _that could ever measure up to the one that had been so cruelly torn from him.

He didn't want to accept it - He couldn't - But no matter how he tried to, he couldn't escape the horrible truth that had presented itself to him in the form of a sickly familiar corpse. Will was dead. Cold and unmoving; lifeless. No more would he grace the world with his infectious smile, no more would anyone see the mischievous glint in his bright brown eyes, no more would he be that light in a life of a lonely old man.

Fifteen years, he thought. _No, sixteen, _he corrected himself. Will had had a birthday before he'd been found. A birthday spent all alone in the cold, his memory devoid of any semblance of love or home. A birthday spent stranded and enslaved in a strange, far-off world with nothing but harsh captors and harsher conditions. It was the last birthday that Will would ever have before his life was abruptly ended at the end of a long, tortuous road full of pain and suffering.

And, he thought horribly, all that time, through everything, being the disgustingly optimistic boy that he was, Will would have clung desperately to the hope of rescue. The misconceived, impossible idea that maybe, just maybe, he would get out alive and find himself back at home after all that had happened. But his hopes were held in vain. He'd let him down, the man thought. In a strange way, he could feel the water lapping around his ankles, could see the hideous wolfship pulling off the shore – so close, yet so impossibly out of reach.

"_Stay alive, Will!" _He could almost hear the words being ripped from his own throat. _"I'll find you!" _It was a lie - all of it. And now, standing here, his heart in pieces, something found a way to wrench at his guts even further than he thought possible. He had failed. He had _failed him._ He had given this boy – this innocent, trusting boy his solemn _word, _his _promise,_ and he had failed him entirely. He hadn't been there when slavery showed its ugly face – he hadn't been there when the cold became too much – he hadn't been there when the complete despair, the overwhelming longing for home overtook the heart. He hadn't even been there at the end, to say goodbye. 

He turned and forced himself to look at the horribly still form, veiled by a familiar, small Ranger's cloak, and found himself at a loss of what to do. His whole life had been spent righting wrongs, quelling evil, fighting injustices, fixing things. This was entirely different. There was no way to fix what had happened. There was no way to right the wrongs that had been committed. There were no words, actions, thoughts or deeds that could ever begin to mend the damage that had been done. Nothing, for however much he wanted to believe otherwise, _nothing_ would ever bring Will back to him.

Vaguely, his mind registered the fact that Horace was gently pulling a tearful Cassandra away from the scene, helping her to mount the large bay standing not so far away. The young man cast a look back at him, and then at Will's dead body, and back to him. Something overcame him and he hid his face. A few seconds more, however, and he was mounted up behind Cassandra and the two rode miserably away. They were headed home, he knew. After all this time away, they would be going back to their own country. He could not follow. He had no home - No title, no place to stay. He'd thrown all that away when he'd come to look for Will. All of it was wasted. Every last effort was in vain. And now, here he was, alone in a foreign land, with nothing but his own broken heart and the cold, dead form of the boy that he'd come to think of as his own son. He glanced down again at the still body, and the tears finally fell.

No father should have to bury his son.

For the first time that he could remember since his days as a boy, he fell to the ground, face in his hands, and wept.

* * *

"NO!" The scream was horrible – anguished, loud, desperate. Halt found himself sitting in his bed, his sheets tangled around him, with no sound in the room except his own pained breathing. Tears were streaming down his face, but he didn't care at the moment. A horrible, unbearable thought was branding itself into his mind, and he had to make it stop. Somehow, in some impossible way, he had to do something to prove it false. In a blind daze, he stumbled out of bed and into the hall, feet padding uncharacteristically loudly against the floorboards as he stumbled deliriously through the cabin, horrible memories playing back and back again in his mind. There was that horrible, unbearable moment when he couldn't find anything quite quickly enough that would prove his memory false, anything that would calm his racing heart. Then, suddenly, inexplicably:

"Halt?"

He turned quickly at the voice, and his heart simultaneously stopped and heaved a huge sigh of pure relief when he spotted the source. More tears were forming in his eyes already, but he didn't blink them back. He was not himself at that moment. Without saying anything, he strode urgently toward the young man, his eyes wide.

"Halt, what was that? What's going on? Halt, are you-" But all together, whatever Will was going to say was muffled by Halt's shoulder as the man wrapped him in one of the tightest hugs that Will had ever been subject to.

Frankly, the boy didn't know what in the _world _was going on. Halt was never the openly emotional or affectionate type, and so to see the ranger in such a state, dissolving into tears at the sight of him and hugging him with all the strength he had made alarm bells ring deafeningly in Will's mind. Something was wrong. Something had to be gravely, horribly wrong for Halt to act like this. _Had someone died? _The boy worked to wrench himself from his mentor's grasp, and once he did, he grabbed the man by the shoulders and tried to get him to look him in the eye.

"Halt, what's going on? What happened? And - good lord, why are you crying?" Will didn't want to admit it, but he was scared – what could have possibly have shaken such an unshakable character as Halt? Nothing pleasant came to mind. He waited anxiously for Halt to respond. After a few moments of silence, Halt finally found his voice.

"You're alive." He stated simply, his voice full of relief.

Will's shoulders slumped. This was about _him, _now? Had Halt gone mad?

"Halt, of course I'm alive! Why would you say that? I'm not exactly going anywhere anytime soon… Halt, are you alright?"

The older ranger had fallen against the wall and sank to the floor, a mixture of relief, horror, and something else that Will couldn't quite pick out on his face as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. With his hand still on the man's shoulder, Will had no choice but to fall down beside him, looking over at him, curious, concerned, and just a touch fearful.

"You – You're alive." Halt said again, his voice cracking ever so slightly. This time, Will noticed, the statement wasn't really directed at him. It was almost as if Halt was trying to convince himself of the fact. Then Will noticed the dark bags under Halt's eyes, the unkempt appearance of his sleep clothes, and his hair, which was a little more tousled than was normal. A suspicion rose in Will's mind, and it was confirmed when Halt opened his eyes and the apprentice saw the lingering, fearful glaze over them.

"Halt," He began carefully, unsure of what exactly do to – he'd never really had to confront his mentor on such an emotional matter. "Was it a nightmare?" He asked. After a moment of silence, Halt simply nodded.

Will, though he knew Halt normally wouldn't appreciate such a gesture, put a comforting hand on the man's arm. The situation was strange and just a little unsettling for Will. Ever since he'd become his apprentice four years ago, Halt had always stood as a figure of absolute strength, safety, knowledge and integrity in Will's life. And now, to see that figure crumpled to a miserable, tearful heap on the floor, he found that he didn't really know how to console his mentor, and, considering all the times that Halt had comforted and helped him when he needed it most, Will couldn't help but feel incredibly sorry for the fact.

"W-What was it about?" He asked, not unkindly.

It took a long moment before Halt could bring himself to respond. But after a few minutes, he finally said:

"Skandia." He said. "I was… We were in Skandia. But you…" He paused to reign in the lingering emotion that closed up his throat. "You were dead." Halt finally mustered out. He was slowly becoming more Halt-like as he woke from his haunted stupor, but there was still a lingering dark cloud of muddled emotions. By looking at him, Will was quite sure that Halt was reliving the dream in his mind's eye over and over again, unable to escape what had happened in his subconscious. What was seen could not be unseen and was not easily forgotten. Will knew that all too well because it was he, all too often, that still had nightmares about Skandia.

"Halt," He said, looking the man in the eye, "I'm alright." He told him reassuringly. The older man nodded, and grasped Will's forearm gratefully.

"I know," he said weakly, "It's just…"

"It was too real." Will finished for him, gently and quietly. Halt met his gaze, saw the complete understanding there, and nodded. Will let out a small, sorrowful sigh and rose, gently grabbing Halt's wrist to drag the man up with him. "Come on. Let's get some coffee."

It was the middle of the night, but the stove burned bright and hot to brew the ranger's coffee. While he waited for the water to heat, Will slid into a seat across from Halt at their kitchen bench.

It had been nearly three years since the events in Skandia, and yet it still haunted both of their minds. Despite the fact that Will was becoming more of a man than a boy these days, and the fact that he had many more good times than bad to look back upon, the memories from the icebound north still haunted his dreams. Similar memories haunted Halt, it seemed. Will had suspected that the man suffered from nightmares, but he had never before had to deal with the aftereffects of it. He felt a pang of guilt as he realized that Halt must have dealt with them alone – but that was Halt's way of doing things. Even now, Halt seemed to have woken up and was already drawing in on himself. In one way, this comforted Will to know that his mentor was acting normally again. In another way, he knew that he would have to proceed with patience. Halt didn't like talking about his feelings, and nightmares were inevitably riddled with the things.

After a while, Will got up, finished brewing the coffee, and eventually brought two steaming mugs over to the table with a small pot of honey in hand. He sipped at his own cup for a moment or two, unobtrusively watching Halt, whom he could tell was musing over his own thoughts.

"You know," Will broke the silence, "Sometimes talking about it helps." He intentionally used the same words that Halt had used on him before when he'd had a nightmare. That had been several years ago, when the memories of Skandia had still been fresh wounds. Even still, years later, the words held their weight and made Halt look up from his coffee into the bright, concerned eyes of his apprentice.

He pressed his lips together and sighed, not in an angry or frustrated way, but more in way that said he was about to do something that was very hard to do. Halt didn't like sharing his feelings, it was true. But at some points or other, a man had to share what was on his mind, and with this particularly touchy issue, Skandia, there was only one person that Halt was comfortable talking to – and that was Will. For Halt, the hardest part was hearing himself say it out loud.

"We were in Skandia – Horace and I. We found Cassandra, and when I asked where Will – Where _you _were, she started crying and begging for forgiveness." Halt paused, shaking his head at the mental image. It couldn't have been Cassandra's fault. "She led us to the cabin," Halt's voice was beginning to waver ever so slightly, "Where…" He stopped and gathered his wits. "Where you were." It was emotionally very difficult to use the word 'you' when speaking to Will about the corpse from his dream. He shook his head and looked down, avoiding his apprentice's eyes. "You were dead." He forced out quickly, hoping speed would lessen the sharp bitter taste on his tongue. It did not. "The cold, the slavery, the… Warmweed." Halt paused for a split second, wondering if he'd offended his apprentice by mentioning such a sensitive issue, but he continued. "It was too much for you to handle, Cassandra said." Here, Halt paused for a long time and just stared at his hands.

Will opened his mouth to say something just as Halt suddenly spoke again.

"I'd failed." He said. "I'd _failed _you. I made a _promise _and I _failed." _Halt's voice was wavering again, and though it was not much, hearing it come from his respected mentor and close friend, it made Will's own throat tighten up. "I wasn't there when I should have been. I wasn't there when I said I was going to be. And I didn't keep my promise, Will." Halt tried to force his eyes up to meet the gaze of his apprentice. "And it cost you your life." And as he said it, his gaze flitted back down to stare at the floorboards.

"Halt… You know that didn't happen." Will said at length. He thought he saw Halt's head bob up and down, so he continued. "You _did not _fail. And I'm not dead. You found me alive – and I don't think I've ever been so happy to see you or Horace as I was that day – and you brought me back here: home, to safety. You kept your promise, Halt." Will told him.

Halt shook his head miserably. "But I _could have failed,_ Will! I could have failed you just as easily as anything else! And by some miracle, I didn't that time, but what about next time? What if you need me again, and I'm not up to the challenge? What if I can't keep any of my promises then, Will?"

"Halt," Will said firmly, "There is no one on this earth that I trust more than I trust you. You have never failed me once, and I don't expect you to do so anytime soon. Heaven forbid you ever fail me, Halt, but if you ever do, at least I'll know that there's no one else in the world who would have tried harder than you would to help me, Halt, because I know you wouldn't give up until your last breath was torn from you." He paused and looked the other man in the eye.

"When I was in Skandia, Halt… I don't remember much because of the warmweed, but I do remember this: Whenever I felt like giving in, giving up, whenever I felt like lying down and not getting up again, I just remembered the promise you'd given to me, and I found the strength to get up again. And in the end, you came through, just like I knew you would. And I don't care how many nightmares you have or how many promises you give, Halt, because what you did for me tells me more than anything your subconscious can come up with. You will always come through for me, no matter what." He gave Halt a long, meaningful look. "And," Will continued, "I hope that somehow, someday, I can do for you what you've done for me." Will looked away for a moment. He was no Halt, but spilling out his heart wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing for him to be doing, though that did seem to be the way things were going. Part of him, however, told him to continue.

"You're like a father to me, Halt. You always have been. I can only hope that you see that it doesn't matter what happens, I will always trust you." Will finished his long speech and looked down at his coffee mug, ever so slightly embarrassed at expressing his own emotions.

Halt looked at the young man in front of him, slightly taken aback. Somehow, Will's confession was totally unexpected and yet entirely predicted – terrifying and reassuring at the same time. Will trusted Halt with his life. Halt wasn't sure if this put a terrifying burden on him, or relieved his fears. More importantly than that, Will said he regarded Halt as his own _father. _Halt was utterly touched by this. He'd come to think of the boy as his own son, but had no way of knowing that Will considered their relationship in the same light. In his swirl of emotions, terror, gratitude, and relief were prominent. Out of all of it, Halt finally decided upon something.

He and Will would fail each other at some point or another, it was true. To what degree, Halt could not tell, but it was simple reality. At the same time, however, there was a complete comfort in knowing that despite this, they were family. Yes, it was a small, odd, adopted sort of family, but they were family nonetheless. There was something else beyond the comrade-like trust that Will and Halt had for one another - something that made them father and son. It was love. It was perhaps a cliché idea, Halt thought to himself, but he knew that it held merit. He knew that the only reason Will would ever trust Halt with his life so readily in the face of such horrible odds was love backed by a deeply rooted trust that only a son could have for his father. And he also knew that it was the only reason that he trusted Will in a such a similar way.

After a while, Halt rose from his seat, and for a split second, Will thought he was going to leave. Instead, he went around the table and grasped Will's shoulder. The young man looked up at the older ranger and their gazes met as he spoke.

"Thank you, son." Was all he said. Will just looked at him for a moment, letting the words sink in. Before he could even consider how Halt felt about open displays of affection, Will stood up quickly, nearly knocking over the bench in the process, and wrapped his arms tightly about his mentor. To his surprise, Halt returned the hug just as tightly. Will let him go after a moment.

"Just to let you know I am _not _going anywhere anytime soon." Will frowned slightly. "And neither are you, so don't go getting any crazy ideas."

Halt couldn't help but smile. "Of course. I think the only place either of us should be going anytime soon is back to sleep." Will had to agree with that. And so, after finishing off their coffee, the two went back down the hall. Just as they were about to part their separate ways to different rooms, Halt stopped Will with a hand and the apprentice turned back towards the other ranger.

"Thank you, Will. For everything." Halt said.

Will just smiled. "You'd do the same for me, Halt." He smiled ironically. "You already have."

Halt gave his apprentice an appraising look, and then simply nodded once, before turning into his own room, the door shutting gently behind him. Left alone, Will smiled and headed back to his own room.

Halt was indeed like a father to Will – there wasn't a doubt about that. But fathers really weren't the only ones with responsibilities, Will had realized as he'd grown. Sons had a unique responsibility all their own, and that was help those who hardly ever thought to help themselves. Sometimes, Will decided, even the gruffest, quietest, most selfless rangers could do with a little help from their apprentices – from their sons. This, he decided, was something he would gladly do for as long as he held that station. And, if he were to keep his word, he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. With that thought and a smile, Will closed his door, climbed into bed, and went back to sleep.


End file.
